


The Bogeyman

by Akoia



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Assassination, Court of Owls, Evil Batfamily, Gun Violence, Justice, Kidnapping, Murder, You're in for a wild ride, abandon hope all ye who enter, buckle up buttercup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:41:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6711076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akoia/pseuds/Akoia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To the rest of the world, they use that place to make their kids be good. 'Listen to me, or the Bogeyman will come from Gotham and take you.' To the rest of the world, it's a city full of freaks and monsters. But the thing is, in Gotham...the monsters have their own Bogeyman. </p><p>(Au's are going to be the death of me. This one is 100% thanks to cakechoz.tumblr.com for their amazing Batman mini comic.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bogeyman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief look at how the Boogeymen came to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think in the comments down bellow.

Two shots, one in the chest, the other in the head, and Bruce Wayne died. He sat in Crime Alley, on his knees, soaked in the blood of Thomas and Martha. His mother and father. His whole world. The man...a petty criminal who had only wanted to make a quick buck, but when Thomas had made a move, just a simple jerk in the wrong direction and the man had shot. His father fell to the ground, dead, instantly. His mother was screaming. Screaming for help. ' _Help! Somebody help us! Please help us!_  ' But nobody would come to help, not in this part of town.

There was another gunshot, and his mother fell to the ground, half dead, by the time Bruce reached out for her. The man, when he saw what he had done, turned and fled, ran away into the night like the coward he was. Leaving Bruce, and his dying mother alone, to share their final moments together. She weakly reached up, and grasped her son's hand, as tightly as she could.  _'I...love...you.'_ Just like that, she was gone. He looked her in the eyes, half blinded by his tears while he watched the light leave her beautiful blue eyes. 

No one came. Not for hours, when the stench of dead bodies became too much for the corrupted police to ignore. They found the young boy there, holding his mother's hand tightly, crying. They took him away from her, and roughly shoved the bodies into bags. He was screaming, screaming, _screaming_ for them to just  _stop._ To leave him alone, and let him be with them. He cursed, bit, scratched every part of the cop that was holding him that he could.  

Eventually, they had just thrown him into a holding cell until Alfred had come to pick him up. The rest of the month, was a blur. From one 'I'm sorry' to the next. Every person he saw, every person who thought that their pity made him feel better just made him angrier. Everyone was always so  _fucking sorry_ and Bruce was sick of it. "The next person who tells me their sorry, kick them out." He ordered Alfred who simply nodded, and allowed Bruce to vent. 

It was three months later, when Bruce was only 8 years old, that he was approached by those who swore they would eradicate crime. They were comprised of Gotham's richest and oldest families. They trained him. "You will be a Talon." The grand master had said. "You will fight for us." He was an older man, whose daughter was about Bruce's age. He didn't like her. She was selfish and stupid at times. And if this man raised someone like that, then they weren't to be trusted. 

"When do I get to fight crime?" He had asked, pushing his feelings deep down. "Who am I fighting?" 

"Anyone who opposes us,  _is_ a criminal, Bruce." 

Ah, so that's how it was. The young man felt satisfied that he had been right about the man all along. Another self serving motherfucker who would just step on the innocent, and help the criminals who they claimed they fought, to achieve their own ends. Bruce smiled brightly. "I can't wait sir."

"Glad to hear it."

Bruce trained hard. Very hard. Sometimes he would be near death by the time his trainers allowed him to rest for the day, only to start over the next day. But it was worth it, because now, Bruce was strong. Stronger then the man that had killed his parents, anyways. Bruce knew that he couldn't raise a candle to his trainers, or the other Talons. But he was still stronger, and that's all that mattered to him.

On the day he turned  13 his trainer put a knife in his hands. "Prove yourself, little one." She pointed to the boy with who he had grown fond of while he trained there. A servant, who cleaned the hallways and rooms. A boy who was paying the debts of his family. He seemed like he had done no wrong. He was quiet, respectful, never put a toe out of line. But he knew better then to question her.

In the years that Bruce had been there he had learned a few simple things. One, questioning orders would get you a beating, and two, the Court never killed unless they thought it was necessary or unless someone had wronged them. So Bruce’s friend had to have done something the Court thought was unforgivable.

“Jamie!” Bruce called, walking over to his friend, opening his arms to embrace the boy. “I passed the Talon’s test!” He yelled, like the child the was supposed to be.

“Good job, Bruce.” His friend said, and when they embraced, Jamie let out a choked sound. He pulled away from the other boy and tried to breathe with the weapon lodged in his back. “W-why?” He asked, and he fell to the ground.

Bruce walked over to the boy, and put his foot where the knife was and pushed it down, _slowly._ “You know what you did wrong.” Was his answer, then finally, Jamie died, with desperate tears running down his face, marks on the ground where he had tried to crawl away from his friend.  

His trainer applauded, and while he couldn’t see her face, he was sure she was smiling. “Very good, young one.” She walked over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You may return home for a week, to celebrate your birthday with your butler. But make sure you’re here in time for the next meeting.”

“As you wish.” Was his instant response.   

When he returned home that day, Alfred had a cake and special dinner ready for him. But he really didn't feel like eating. For whatever reason, the more distance he put between himself and his trainer made his heart grow heavy for what he had done. He took a deep breath.

"Training going well, Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, pouring him a glass of...something.

"I don't want to talk about that." The young man said frankly, as he drank whatever it was. Milk. It was milk.

* * *

Bruce was 21 when he met Dick Grayson, a young boy of nine who worked at the circus along with his parents. The famous acrobats, The Flying Graysons. Bruce had brought a very lovely woman who must have been a few years older then him. While he watched, he noticed something strange. The ropes had slipped, and suddenly people were screaming. But one scream stirred his heart above all the others. The cries of a child who had just lost everything. 

He watched, and it happened, in almost slow motion, as John and Marry Grayson fell to their deaths. He watched their crumpled forms begin to bleed, from where the ground had cracked their heads open. People were running, as fast as they could to get out of the tent, with the circus folks trying to get them calm. But not Bruce. He saw an opportunity, and somewhere deep down in his black heart, he wanted to save that young boy, who was still screaming for his parents. He stood up and looked at the woman. "Contact the court, tell them, I'm bringing a child back with me."

He didn't wait for an answer. He waited until no one was looking, and quickly made his way to the boy, who was leaning over his parents bodies. He leaned down and put a hand on his shoulder. "Who did this, boy?" He asked, trying to make himself sound warmer then he normally would have. The boy turned around, and the look in his bright blue eyes sent a cold chill down his spine, to think, he had looked just like that. Broken, afraid, _angry._

 _"_ I saw him." The boy said first, grabbing onto Bruce's jacket. "He...he came and he threatened us for money, but papa wouldn't pay. I saw him." He said again, looking at the man hopelessly. 

"What did you see him do?"

"I went backstage, he was there. I didn't know what he was doing, but now I know."

"Who was it?"

"Tony Zucco."

The name was familiar. Zucco, someone who the court had their eyes on for months, after he killed one of their members. But they had yet to act, due to the fact that Zucco had been unknowingly funding them, and the promise of money seemed to far outweigh loyalty. But now...now things would be different. Bruce had been where this boy was, and it stuck out in his mind, and it always would. He'd never gotten his revenge, he'd never had that kind of closure, and maybe if he had, he wouldn't have been where he was then. "Do you want revenge?" He asked the boy, wiping a stray tear that had fallen. He lifted the boy's chin up, so they could look into one another's eyes.

The boy nodded his head, unable to take his eyes off Bruce, The man in front of him had an aura around him that he had never felt before. So much raw power, just there at the man's fingertips. How could he deny a request from this man? There was just no way. "I want revenge." He said, his voice hardly a whisper.

The man in front of him smiled, and stood up, towering over Dick. He held out a hand. "Then come with me, I'll give you power, unlike anything you've felt before."

Dick didn't even hesitate for a second, before he took the man's hand, letting him help the boy to his feet. Bruce took off his coat and laid it gently across Dick's shoulders. He took the nine year old's hand once more, and led him out of the tent, out of eyesight of the people who had been his family for his whole life. But now...he knew everything was going to change. Forever.

Dick was right about that. The first thing that had happened when he was taken before the leader of the court was someone threw a knife at his feet, and then they brought out a prisoner. That he was supposed to kill. He was panicking, until he felt Bruce put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze it gently. "You can cry later." He said, leaning down to whisper in the boy's ear. "But if you ever want your revenge, you have to do this."

Dick took a deep breath, and slowly made his way over to the man, who was looking around desperately. "Please." The man begged him, when they were standing in front of one another. "I can give you more money then you could spend in a life time!" He screamed, struggling in the hands of two men holding him tightly. Dick knew that if he was going to do this, then he'd have to do it before the man said anything else, or he'd lose his resolve, that was already weak to begin with. He made a gesture for the two men, to force the man down to his knees. The man was screaming, crying, begging for his life. With one quick movement, Dick slashed the knife across the man's neck. He took a step back when he felt the blood spray, onto his face, all over his clothes, his shoes, in his hair.

It was like he was in a far away place. But soon, he felt Bruce lift him off the ground. "The first is always the hardest." He said, rubbing the boys back gently. "It's okay to cry now if you want, no one who matters will judge you for that." He promised. But Dick didn't cry. He had run out of tears for the night. Instead he clung to Bruce, hiding his face in the expensive white jacket. But it didn't seem like Bruce was angry that it was ruined.

"Where will the boy stay?" The leader asked, after he congratulated the boy 'for the show.' "Surely it would be noticed, if someone like you suddenly brought back an orphaned child of the circus."

"There is no other option other then him staying with me." Bruce said, when he felt the boy grip him so desperately. "He's got potential, he's athletic, he's very intelligent. But he's also a child. He can train like I did. He'll be fine." He was sure the grandmaster was angry that Bruce wouldn't just pass the boy, into his hands. But he wasn't just going to abandon him, not when he was in such a state where he could be brainwashed into becoming their slave. Maybe that was why the grandmaster was radiating such annoyance.

"Go then." The grandmaster said, turning away from Bruce. "Bring him every night for training."

Bruce bowed, the best he could, with Dick in his arms. "As you wish."

When Alfred saw Bruce carrying a sleeping, _bloody,_ child he almost had a heart attack. "What is this?!" He demanded, following Bruce up to one of the rooms. Where his master laid the boy down. 

"His parents were murdered, right in front of him." Bruce said. "So I decided, that he wasn't going to go down the same path as I did. I brought him to the court, they'll train him, he'll get his revenge."

" _Master Bruce_." Alfred sounded horrified. "What were you thinking? Those men will tear his innocence to shreds. He's just a child." He hadn't been able to save Bruce from the same fate, and Bruce was sure that was one of the main reasons why he was so against the idea. He didn't want to watch what happened to happen again.

Bruce chuckled softly. "No Alfred, his 'innocence' died along with his parents." He sighed and gently shook the boy's shoulder. "Wake up, Dick." He said, when the boy only stirred. "You need to take a shower. You don't want to wake up tomorrow covered in all that blood."

Eventually Dick woke up, and followed Bruce's instructions. He washed off, and watched in fascination as the blood came off him and circled the drain. He was beginning to go to dark places. He wondered, if maybe some of that blood was his parents. He didn't start crying again, he held back those tears, he swore the moment that he killed that man that his resolve could never brake. He had to be strong, for _their_ sake. He was sure his parents would never approve of him taking vengeance. They were such kind people, that if there was an afterlife, he was sure his parents would have already forgiven their murder.

But Dick wouldn't. Not ever. Not even when the bastards blood was running between his fingers. Not even when he'd carried out as brutal an execution as he could. It would be nothing like what he had done to the prisoner. No, that death had only last a few seconds. Dick wanted Zucco's death to last hours, days if Dick could manage it. Dick clenched his hands, and punched the wall, feeling rage consume his heart. There was a knock on the door, and Bruce's servant asked him if he was okay. "I'm alright, thank you." He said, making sure not to take his anger out on someone who didn't deserve it.

When he was finished with his shower, he had to wear a pair of Bruce's pajamas, because that was all there was for him. "We'll go shopping tomorrow. I'll take the day off from work." He'd promised the boy, before tucking him into bed.

"Mr. Wayne?" Dick asked, his voice soft.

"Please, just call me Bruce." The man said, brushing some of the boy's wet hair to the side. "What is it?"

"Why did you take me?"

"A lot of reasons. Our stories, are much the same, and you looked so sad." He smiled at the boy. "I couldn't let you be alone. I was lucky, I had Alfred. But social workers would have come to take you away." He laid his palm on the boy's head. "I didn't want you to feel any worse." 

* * *

A month after Dick had come to stay with him, Bruce adopted him. The paparazzi were vultures, and had swarmed down on the boy, which Dick had dealt with wonderfully. No yelling, no fear, simple coolness. He attended parties with Bruce, and was considered a model young man by everyone who met him. Which made the court begin to value him more and more with every passing day.    

Dick preformed better then anyone expected him too. Much like Bruce. He was dedicated, and accurate with every swing of the sword he was being taught to use. He was a powerful opponent when he had been taught the basics. He made Bruce a very proud man, when he watched Dick dance, around and around, like he was actually in a ballet rather then a deadly fight. The two of them went on missions together, and Bruce was glad to see that Dick was as ruthless on the streets as he was in the training center. Sometimes he thought that maybe he should have been worried about that. But good hunting partners were hard to find.

It was out on one of these missions, when they met Jason Todd.

They were trailing a man who had been taking money from the companies of one of the higher up members of the court. By then Dick was 17 years old, and already a man. Not that he had much of a chance for childhood to begin with. The court had told him he was a Talon, much like Bruce, but Dick was only loyal to Bruce, who had dubbed him an Owl, like how Bruce called himself Batman. But that was a secret between them.

On their mission they had brought one of Bruce's cars and parked it into an alley so they could complete their mission and kill the man. Bruce carried it out, saying that Dick had worked hard enough that week. They left the home, and stopped in their tracks, while they watched a boy around Dick's age trying to steal the tires off the expensive car. They watched him take the third one off, before Bruce cleared his throat, and the red head spun around.

When he saw that Bruce was covered in blood, he let out a gasp, and tripped on one of the tires that he had tried to steal. Dick pressed his lips together to try and smother his snort, with little success.

Batman pushed him to the side, and made his way over to the teen, who was letting his mouth hang open. Batman kneeled down, and pushed the boy's jaw up, so he would close his mouth. "You're going to catch flies." He said simply. "Now, I'm sure you know what I'm going to ask you, so why don't you just answer?" The boy didn't answer, looking between Dick and Batman, trying to form some kind of reasonable explanation in his mind, for why the man was covered in blood. Batman sighed. "Who are you kid? How old are you?" He asked.

"Jason Todd. I'm fifteen." He said, after a bit more of a pause.

"Relax Jason, I'm not going to kill you." Batman said, gripping the boy's jaw tightly. "Not yet, but if you keep stealing, then I might. If you piss the wrong person off." His voice sent a chill down the boy's spine, and Batman smiled for effect. "Where are your parents, Jason?" He asked. He knew that he had asked the wrong question when the boy's face crumbled.

"My dad, got out of jail two years ago, haven't seen him since." The boy said bitterly. "And my mom died of a meth  overdose last month."

Dick sighed, when he saw Batman's shoulders slump a bit. He guessed that they'd be bringing the red head with them. And he was right. "Put the tires back on my car. You're coming with us."

There was no room for question, and Dick watched the teen who looked like he was about to cry. Like he thought Batman was going to kill him anyways. Eventually they were all loaded up, and Bruce ordered Dick to put a black hood over Jason's head so he couldn't see where they were going. Dick climbed in the back, and tried to put the hood on, but Jason's eyes grew wide, he tried to fight Dick off, so Dick used a zip tie to bind the boy's hands together and put the hood over his head. "Don't make me gag you too kid." Dick said. He decided that he should sit in the back with the kid, just in case he tried something. When they were in front of the meeting place for that week, Batman ordered Dick to stay with Jason.

"Please let me go." The boy said, sounding like he had been crying.

Dick felt bad for the kid, so he lifted the hood a bit, so the boy could see his face. "No one is going to hurt you." He promised. "Bruce saw potential in you. And he also has a bit of a 'saving orphans' thing." He had to pull the hood back over his head, but he removed the zip tie. "Just don't try and run away."

Eventually, they brought the boy in front of the grandmaster, and he was finally able to remove his hood. He looked around the room, of people in white masks. It sent a shiver running through his spine. It was so creepy. Like something straight out of a horror movie about a cult or something.

"So...eight years later, you bring us another orphan." The grandmaster said from his podium, seeming to be burning holes in Jason's head with how intensely he was looking at him. "Well if this one is even half as good as your last stray, we can't wait to have him."

"Thank you grandmaster." Bruce said, kneeling down.

"But there is still the matter of his test." Again, just like for Dick, a knife was thrown at Jason's feet, and someone who had betrayed or wronged the court. "Tell me Jason Todd, will you kill for us?"

Jason ignored the knife, and walked right up to the woman, who looked like she had been through hell. He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small hand gun. He knew if he didn't kill her, he'd be killed by these people. And that man who had brought him here had known that. He aimed between her eyes and fired without so much as a second of hesitation. She slumped in her holders arms, and was dragged her away.                       

"You didn't check him?" The grandmaster asked.

"No." Bruce said. 

Alfred was not amused. He took one look at the fifteen year old, let out a very deep sigh, and gestured for the young man to follow him. "What is your name, young master?" Alfred asked.

"Jason." He said, following after the older man quickly. "Jason Todd."

"Dinner will be served at 8:00, master Jason."

* * *

 

It really didn't take long for Batman to find his next owl. Just a month. It was another boy, just 7 years old. Batman, and Jason were working together that night, because Dick was hurt, and Alfred wouldn't let him out of the house. They were on another assassination mission, when Batman saw the opportunity to do some real good in the world. They killed the man, not much thought there, but they had heard the man talking before hand. 

The man had ordered two of his goons to kill the 'Drake' family. "Make sure that bastard watches his kid die." He'd said over the phone. When the man laid down on the ground dead, they quickly rushed off, to find out who Drake was. 

"We can't just be the aching sore in Gotham's side." Bruce had said, when Jason asked why. "We need to kill the infection, and treat the wound." 

Jason accepted that, and using the courts computer database, they found him. Jack Drake was a petty criminal who had just rubbed a few people the wrong way, That always seemed to be how things went with these people. Mixing into the wrong crowd, then later regretting it when they realized what these people were capable of. Then they'd die, and the cycle would repeat itself. 

They arrived at the home, and found the bodies of Jack and Janet Drake, but no sign of their son. Both a blessing and a curse. The boy was alive, but...they didn't have high hopes of finding him. Not alive. 

But they did. It was a miracle, really. They had found the boy, days later, tied up with chains in a warehouse. Jason helped him down, and wrapped him up in his cape. "You're okay now." He whispered into the boy's ear. "Everything is going to be okay, we'll take good care of you." He promised, over and over again. He looked up at Batman, who had just killed all fifteen criminals there. "We can't take him too the court." 

"We must." He said. He leaned down and looked at the boy with something like sorrow in his eyes. "We must, or they will kill him. He has to prove himself, or..."

"Then _he_ killed these people." Jason said, gesturing around to the bodies. "We got here, and they were all already dead. He'd escaped his chains, and killed them." 

"Lying to them is never a good idea, Jason."

"What's the point then. They'll...if he doesn't."  

"We can ask them to postpone his test. They might, after all, I think they owe me one favor after 21 years of faithful services."

"You were 8." Jason said. "You were 8 years old, and they had _no_ intention of waiting for you to be ready-" He was going to go off on a rant, but Batman covered his mouth. 

"Trust me, Jason." He said, looking into his friend's eyes.

 _"For the Love of God Bruce_!!!" The grandmanster screamed, when he saw the small boy in Jason's arms. "Another one? When will it end?"

Bruce simply shrugged. He stepped forward. "Grandmaster, might I make a request?" He asked, looking up, trying to appear humble.

"I...suppose you may."  

He made a small gesture to Tim. "This boy, has been through a great ordeal. Please, allow his test to be held tomorrow, when he has had the chance to rest."

The grandmaster agreed, and Tim was taken to Wayne manor, where Bruce explained what was going to happen. "They'll ask you to kill someone, do you think you can handle that?"

Tim nodded. And he did. He preformed very well, but later that night Bruce heard him crying. Screaming for his mother and father. He didn't go to comfort the boy, and he told the rest of the house hold to do the same. The first kill was always the worst, but he'd be fine. He'd have to be, if he wanted to survive.  

 

* * *

Bruce had been having an affair with a beautiful, but deadly woman, named Talia al Ghul. He'd been seeing her for six months, before he decided to bring her to the manor. She was an assassin, so the thought crossed his mind once or twice that she was trying to seduce him to kill him, but as time went on, he realized that the two of them had a genuine connection. He was bringing her over to dinner so she could meet the rest of the family. They were all gathered around the long dinning hall table, no one really saying anything so they weren't yelling. Alfred had prepared something special for them. But the real party began after they were finished, and the boys had all gone to bed. after that night, she told him, that she had to return to her father by the next week. He watched her get on her jet sadly, but he remembered the time they spent together fondly. His life had been soaked in blood for more then twenty years, and she had been there to make some of it a little more worth living.

He didn't hear from Talia for nine months, when he received a message in the mail. There was a note, and a small package. The note read:

_My love,_

_It has been awhile hasn't it. As you may have guessed, I had more reason to seek you out, other then a few months of pleasure. My love, I was sent to Gotham on a mission. Word had reached my father about a skilled assassin, one whose might rivaled even his. Originally, father wanted you to be his heir, after he had seen your work first hand, but when it became apparent that you were loyal to the court he had another idea._

_By the time you read this my love, I will have already given birth to our son. Damian._

_My father also gave me another mission. To destroy the Court. When you do so, is when you may meet your son._

_-Talia._

Bruce ripped opened the package, and found several pictures of a baby, with small tufts of black hair, and bright blue eyes, just like Bruce. He sat down on the chair of his study and looked at the pictures over and over again, wondering if it was real. If this little baby truly was his. But there was no doubt. He smiled, while he looked at them, rubbing a thumb over the one, where the small baby was sleeping, his little face scrunched up into one of determination and defiance. 

"Whatcha looking at?" Dick asked, walking into the room without knocking. He took the note off of Bruce's desk and read over it a few times, before looking back at his mentor. "Is this for real?"

"Yes Dick, it's for real." He took the note back.

"So, she's holding your baby hostage?"

"Yes, that's what it sounds like."

"What are you going to do, Bruce?"

Bruce took in a breath. "I've had the thought for awhile, actually. To destroy the Court. They claim to want to clean Gotham, but they only add to the rotten filth that taints the streets."

"When?" Dick asked, feeling excitement bubble in his stomach at the thought of a good kill.

"When I have found a way for us to overcome the Talons. When we are stronger."

"Are we not strong?"

"You are. But you are not an army."

That night, Bruce called together all the members of his group, and told them what was happening. How they needed to train harder, because they were going to wipe out the court completely. There could be no survivors. Dick and Jason seemed very excited, and to some extent, so did Tim. But the young eight year old had always been the gentlest of the group, he didn't know if he could stomach that. But he played along, for his brothers. Besides, he figured if he had to kill a large group of people, he was glad it was them. 

"How long will it take, do you think?" Jason asked, his hands folded in front of him.

"Awhile. Trust me Jason, it's not going to happen over night. It's going to take a lot of planning and thought. If we want to succeed, then we must be patient." There came a chorus of 'okays' and 'yes sirs' before Alfred came in the room, and ordered everyone into bed.

* * *

Their plan took five years. They trained, they fought, they learned to trust one another no matter what. Five years, and all of them were stronger then they had thought they could become. Even quiet, meek, little Timmy had become an unstoppable force of nature. They had learned the tricks of the trade, their enemies weaknesses. Even Bruce had risen from Talon to full member. After the grandmaster died, and his daughter took his place, Bruce knew it was time.

They were ready.  


End file.
